


work title

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: nnnmnmn mn





	work title

_Zhelaniye_

_Longing_

It’s 1932 and it’s _cold._ The kind of December chill that seeps through your skin and gets into your lungs. His pulls his jacket closer to himself and wishes desperately that he had better shoes than the ones pooling around his feet. He loves his Pa, but dear lord did the man have enormous feet that ensured that his son would never be able to comfortably use hand me downs. Becca’s would have fit him better. A wave of cold air manages to rattle his bones and he briefly wonders how Steve is managing. He imagines Stevie’s little body shaking with every cough and something deep unsettles in his stomach. His hands tighten on his books, his left still stinging from the teacher’s blow.

_“Barnes, how many times must I tell you?”_

_“ Once more, I assume,” he cleared his throat, “Ma’am.”_

_“One must always write with their right hand, writing with the left is not the way of the lord. All you have done is disappoint me and Him. You know better, I have seen you write with your right on occasion. Stand up,” She says shaking her head and whipping out her wooden ruler, which a running joke among the class had declared her only companion throughout life._

He’d then been chucked out of class, a smile never leaving his face. Bucky swore Lily R. right about melted when he threw a wink her way while sauntering out to stand close to the window, the biting chill growing in intensity. He is thinking about hot stoves and warm air, the kind that billows out when Ma makes a particularly delicious batch of cookies, when another door opens and a boy a little older than him walks out, laughter escorting him. They stand in silence for a while, and then –

“So,” the boy drawls, “Whatcha here for?” He has to shout a little over the wind.

Bucky raises his left hand in answer. “You?”

“ ‘parrently writing the teacher a love note is frowned upon.” A smile tugs at his face and he looks at the newcomer properly for the first time.

“I’m Bucky…..” He feels as if his breath has been knocked out. The dark eyebrows that hood that hood the deep green eyes are raised in amusement. A smirk traces the corners of his pink lips. His dark hair floats around him in the wind and his tall frame seems perfectly at ease even in this weather, going so far as to lean over the railing. The uniform feels as if it’s flattering him and he crosses his feet at the ankles.

_Zhelaniye_

_Longing_

It’s 1932 and it’s _cold._ The kind of December chill that seeps through your skin and gets into your lungs. His pulls his jacket closer to himself and wishes desperately that he had better shoes than the ones pooling around his feet. He loves his Pa, but dear lord did the man have enormous feet that ensured that his son would never be able to comfortably use hand me downs. Becca’s would have fit him better. A wave of cold air manages to rattle his bones and he briefly wonders how Steve is managing. He imagines Stevie’s little body shaking with every cough and something deep unsettles in his stomach. His hands tighten on his books, his left still stinging from the teacher’s blow.

_“Barnes, how many times must I tell you?”_

_“ Once more, I assume,” he cleared his throat, “Ma’am.”_

_“One must always write with their right hand, writing with the left is not the way of the lord. All you have done is disappoint me and Him. You know better, I have seen you write with your right on occasion. Stand up,” She says shaking her head and whipping out her wooden ruler, which a running joke among the class had declared her only companion throughout life._

He’d then been chucked out of class, a smile never leaving his face. Bucky swore Lily R. right about melted when he threw a wink her way while sauntering out to stand close to the window, the biting chill growing in intensity. He is thinking about hot stoves and warm air, the kind that billows out when Ma makes a particularly delicious batch of cookies, when another door opens and a boy a little older than him walks out, laughter escorting him. They stand in silence for a while, and then –

“So,” the boy drawls, “Whatcha here for?” He has to shout a little over the wind.

Bucky raises his left hand in answer. “You?”

“ ‘parrently writing the teacher a love note is frowned upon.” A smile tugs at his face and he looks at the newcomer properly for the first time.

“I’m Bucky…..” He feels as if his breath has been knocked out. The dark eyebrows that hood that hood the deep green eyes are raised in amusement. A smirk traces the corners of his pink lips. His dark hair floats around him in the wind and his tall frame seems perfectly at ease even in this weather, going so far as to lean over the railing. The uniform feels as if it’s flattering him and he crosses his feet at the ankles.


End file.
